


A Quiet Headstone

by YAJJ



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Gen, Heavy Angst, Just a Number, Mentions of Death, Non-con is non-explicit, Not really mentioned, Tagged to be safe, just in the original
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 15:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YAJJ/pseuds/YAJJ
Summary: When Roy was disappeared for six months, he has to wonder how quickly they gave up on him. Post-Just a Number, following Roy's automail surgery





	A Quiet Headstone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ranowa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Just a Number](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537623) by [Ranowa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa). 



Not long after they returned from the Rockbells’ and acquired Roy a few new fingers, Maes discovered a few things about himself and Roy. They were simple things. Didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things, really. Namely…

He found that he really couldn’t say no.

Yeah.

That was the gist of it.

When Roy made a certain face, spoke with a certain tone, or acted a certain way, Maes practically turned to goo, and he couldn’t deny him. Roy had had six long months of being denied everything—up to food, sleep, hygiene, and basic human decency and respect—and Maes found himself unable to do anything but respect his wishes.

The topic of the day today? Going to the cemetery.

Maes wasn’t _all_ that surprised, he supposed. Roy used to make quarterly visits to the cemetery, to visit old friends who died in battle, old friends who didn’t, and just poke around. Maes found the venture a bit grim, but Roy had made a pastime out of it and, again, Maes couldn’t tell the man ‘no’ if he wanted to.

So, the day after Roy brought it up out of nowhere, Maes shuffled him into the car, and they were off.

The cemetery was empty. It was directly after work and supper, since Maes had used all his vacation time taking care of Roy after finding him, so the sun was getting a little low, just starting its red-dyed descent, and few people wanted to come to a cemetery so late.

Roy wandered, mostly. It had been over seven months since he’d been here last, and in those seven months he had been focusing on his survival, so he didn’t recall the exact placement of each and every pal, and for all he knew, a few new friends had said their last goodbyes since he’d disappeared. Maes let him wander, only glancing over occasionally to make sure that he was still doing alright. Roy’s circle wasn’t the only one that Maes ran in, after all, and he had a few friends of his own to visit.

Maes took his time visiting his old friends, telling stories since the last time he had been in this cemetery ( _Two months ago was it only two months? Only two months since they had declared him dead? Why did it feel like so so much more?_ ), showing more pictures of Elysia than he normally would because, well, just because these friends of his were _dead_ didn’t mean they didn’t get to see the cutest angel to ever grace his earth. Mostly, though, he just wanted to give Roy all the time he needed. Roy had plenty of friends of his own to visit, and maybe… maybe he had to take his time apologizing to them for not visiting in a while. Maybe.

Finally, he closed the ever-present photo album for the last time this evening and looked back over to locate his friend. A spark of nerves blasted through his chest when he realized he didn’t see Roy’s tall, lonesome figure in the dusk. He calmed himself quickly—Roy was a goddamn adult and could take care of himself (if he ignored the past, you know, seven to eight months)—and deduced that he was probably over the hill or behind one of the trees. He could give him a little more time to grieve and mourn, and wait by the entrance until Roy came out, or took too long.

The sun soon neared the tops of the buildings and Maes had been standing there for fifteen minutes at the entrance, waiting. He didn’t mind in the slightest giving Roy the time that he needed, but he was afraid that giving him too long would be… unhealthy. He called for Roy, really just to make sure that he was alright, but when he received no answer, he decided that it was time to check and make sure that Roy wasn’t suffering through a flashback of some sort.

Near the back of the cemetery was where the newer plots were. The cemetery would have to keep expanding, rather quickly since this was a military cemetery, and so would keep no one together by name, rank, or title. All that was left behind was the cold, lonely headstone with a name and year of birth and death. When Maes died, he hoped it would be after he’d retired if only so he didn’t have to end up in some lonely plot.

And that—his heart catching in his throat, black realization knotting at his stomach and stopping his heart as he neared the newest plots, cold and lonely, all of them dated with the year —1914—that was where he found Roy.

Seated. In front of a lonely little tombstone. The grass of the plot was not turned up because there had never been anything to bury. It was only the grass surrounding the headstone that would have been disturbed, and even that had long since regrown, looking as if the area had gone undisturbed since that horrible day two months ago.

Roy didn’t even move except for the wind tousling his hair, just stared forward at the name and dates carved into the marble.

_Roy Mustang_

_Flame Alchemist_

_1885—1914_

* * *

Roy felt Maes’ approach more than he heard it. Ever since his time in the warehouse, he had acquired some sort of—well, Maes liked to call it a sixth sense, but Roy just called it a proximate phobia. The thought of anything being anywhere near to behind him sent a chill through his spine. It didn’t matter who it was—a doctor, Pinako, Maes, Gracia, even Elysia was enough to make him freeze on the spot and pray that they wouldn’t notice him and would just leave him be.

Yeah, that was right. The great Flame Alchemist—afraid of a fucking _child_.

He laughed to himself and looked forward at the name. _Flame Alchemist_ . He supposed that the Flame Alchemist really wasn’t there anymore. Was he? He had died in the time he had been gone. That Roy was still able to make flames meant nothing. The person that the Flame Alchemist used to be was long dead, replaced by this shell of a man who hardly had the right to _breathe_ without doing something to earn it.

Just because Maes tried to deny it in Resembool made it no less true.

The grass beneath his body stirred with the soft wind, tickling his ankles. It was long, looked to be perfectly where it belonged. Nothing here looked out of place. Not even… not even that awful thing before him.

It looked back at him, feeling like a slap in the face, an explanation of every single shitty thing that had gone wrong in his life since day fucking one.

He had a headstone.

With his _fucking name on it_.

It was planted in the fucking ground, in a fucking cemetery, with two separate years, the two most important days of his life; the day he was born, and the day he… he… _died_.

_The day they gave up_.

Everyone of them.

They all gave up. And the proof of it was right there, glinting back at him with the light of the sun. It looked like any old headstone. Nothing special, nothing spectacular. Just an ordinary thing. Just a number. He had done nothing for the world; nothing good anyway, and there was that headstone, made to prove it to him.

“How long do you think that’s been there?” he wondered aloud, but he didn’t speak up. He only asked the wind, which kindly took the words far from his ears. He didn’t want to know. Because whatever the answer was, it meant that even less time than that was spent looking for him.

He knew that he wasn’t terribly popular in the military—at least, not amongst the higher ups. He had always known it would make life in the military… difficult, but he had always thought it would be in the long run. Years down the road. When he was squaring off against General Armstrong (who he had always imagined running against) and one of the other higher ups who hadn’t had the decency to die yet. One of them would bring up one of his past transgressions (like, perhaps, what had earned him his oh-so-famous nickname the ‘Hero of Ishval’, perhaps), and he would feel it, and maybe his campaign would hurt, but in the end he would power through and come out on top.

But this? He had never, ever, ever, in a hundred thousand years _ever_ expected the higher ups’ dislike to result in his official-enough-to-have-a-death-certificate _death_ . To be caused by months and months and _months_ of torture, physical and emotional torture.

And even if they had tried to declare him dead, he would have thought that Maes of all people, Maes who _headed Investigations_ , Maes who was his best friend and one of his strongest pillars of support, he had always thought that Maes of all people would push and fight it until the end.

But he didn’t. He didn’t, and the proof of it all stared at Roy spelled out in only so many letters but more than enough to get the message.

Maes stopped behind him, and Roy felt a thrill of fear shiver through his bones again, misplaced though it was. Maes would never _hurt him_ . Not. Not like Master had done, not-so-long ago. Nowadays, Maes wouldn’t even hurt him like _Maes_ had done, had used to do when Roy was spiraling. He wouldn’t even touch Roy without his permission anymore.

_Pathetic_.

Maes stood there, silent, watching him stare. Roy felt his eyes on the back of his neck and he hated that it felt like danger.

Then, finally, Maes had the decency to speak up.

“...We looked for you.”

Maybe it was the simple statement.

Maybe it was the simple way it was said. With so little emotion. Just a statement of fact.

Maybe it was the timing. Maybe it was the fact that Maes attempted some sort of an _excuse_ , maybe it was that Roy’s fingers hurt and he was tired and cranky and more than a little overwhelmed seeing his name on a headstone with its own plot and death year.

But, most likely, it was the fact that it _didn’t fucking matter_.

“You _looked for me_?”

Roy spat those words like they were venom on the tongue. His mind cleared as a familiar anger set in—anger at the injustice of it all, anger at the absolute _bullshittery_ dripping from Maes’ mouth like an overflowing faucet. He had _looked?_

That was a fat load of _shit_ that did for Roy.

“We did,” Maes said. His voice was off, like he sensed the impending emotions. “Everywh—“

“Oh, did you fucking _look for me?_ Is that what happened; you fucking _looked_ for me?! And somehow through all that looking, all that looking ‘everywhere’ like you say, you still managed to completely _miss me?_ ”

“Roy—“ Maes said, hands up for peace, but Roy had been dealt a shitty hand in life and he was fucking _sick of it_.

He stood, bracing himself on aching hands and forced himself to his feet. It still kinda hurt to walk, to be honest, and he was pretty sure his feet would never heal back to the way they had been, but that was just another card of the shitty hand he’d been dealt that he’d have to deal with. _What’s new_.

“Did you look everywhere for me, Maes? Holed up with your little family, and all your friends, holed up with your oh-so-cozy job in your cozy little office— _heading the Investigations department, might I add_ —smack dab in the middle of Central? Did you look _everywhere_ , Maes? Hmm? How about—what was it, five miles? Ten miles out of Central, into the suburbs? Looked _everywhere_ , did you Maes?”

“I—” Maes started, but Roy was apparently not done.  

“ _You_ ? You _what_ Maes?! What did you do?! Fought the higher ups? If it weren’t ‘for you’, how soon would they have given up? Look at this! _You all gave up_!”

“We looked everywhere we could, Roy!” Maes insisted, voice stirring with a different emotion than before. Roy could see it there—some kind of anger in his voice. “We never—gave up, we—”

“Well the _fucking headstone_ begs to differ!”

“ _THAT WASN’T MY FAULT!!!”_

Maes yelled a little louder, a little fiercer, a little angrier than he should have. He had been under a lot of stress in the months since Roy disappeared and especially since he was found, and all of that attributed to his emotions and his tone and Roy knew that.

But still, that didn’t stop the hard flinch that knocked Roy silent. That didn’t stop the way that Roy shrunk down, his shoulders hunched, his head lowered like a frightened man. He quickly averted his eyes, instincts of a slave clearly not yet gone. Anger still held much of his body language, but it was in a way that insisted that Roy was halfway between fight and flight, ready to run and ready to combat.

Instantly, Maes backed down and put his hands up, trying to prove to Roy that it was okay and he was safe. He noted that Roy was still angry, so he wasn’t so far gone. He could still listen, and not need to instantly be comforted and soothed. He was still there.

“That… wasn’t my fault,” Maes repeated, more plea than anything. “I didn’t— _we_ didn’t give up. We never gave up on you, Roy. Please.”

“...Head of investigations,” Roy mumbled weakly. His face was turned to the ground, awaiting some sort of punishment that wasn’t coming.

“I—am, Roy, yes. But heading investigations doesn’t suddenly give me more power than Colonel Archer—” Maes flinched at the mention of the same man who had ruined Roy’s life so spectacularly but plowed on, ignoring the way that Roy flinched hard and darted his eyes all about— “Or any of the generals, let alone the damn Fuhrer. Believe me, Roy, if I could have had the whole of the military out there looking for you those past six months, every soldier, I would have. I would never even have _slept_ if I could get away with it, Roy, you _have_ to believe me. I lost six _mon—”_

Maes quickly brought himself to a stop, throat tight. Would it really be appropriate for him to say to Roy, who had had six months of his life stripped from him without even the slightest hint of permission, that he had lost six months of his life? That felt _way_ too much like a guilt trip and, though Maes was not above a good old fashioned guilt trip, he had also already guilt tripped Roy in recent weeks just to get him to stay alive, and he wasn’t prepared for that level of emotional turmoil so soon.

When Maes looked up, Roy was staring at him with dark eyes, anger growing again but very, very slowly. “You lost six months?”  
“I know, Roy, I—that wasn’t what I meant to say. I didn’t— _lose_ —anything. I chose to spend those six months looking for you but I _did_ , I swear. Everyday. And you probably don’t believe me, but—it’s the truth. The only day I didn’t was—“ _Your birthday, and that was only because I was too busy drinking myself into a stupor and getting too lost in memories to be of any use—_ “The worst of it all for me, and even now I’m guilty for not taking that time. Maybe I could have been even a day earlier to find you. I don’t… I…”

He didn’t know what to say. What he _could_ say. Roy had lost half a year of his life to human trafficking and was in the process of losing several years, just to heal, and he genuinely thought that everyone he knew had believed him dead. And why wouldn’t he? There they were, in front of his _goddamn_ tombstone, _his name_ engraved on it, telling anyone who walked by that Roy Mustang was dead and it had happened in 1914.

Maes knew that this stone would be a subject of turmoil, but for some reason it never occurred to him that it would be a subject of turmoil _for Roy_. It had been proof of Maes’ failure; proof that he wasn’t the great best friend he had once believed he was. But a part of him had thought that Roy would never see it; that as soon as he was found alive, the groundskeeper would realize the error and take up the headstone. Roy would never even have had to know it existed.

But this was an unusual case, and taking up headstones wasn’t in a groundskeeper’s job description. They were generally supposed to be permanent. It wasn’t often that a man came back from the dead over a month after he was declared.

His throat went tighter than it should have a lot faster than he was expecting, and he had to tear his eyes away.

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Roy paused, surprised by his quiet words. Maes looked well and truly heartbroken. His anger was diminishing slowly; nostrils still half-flared and body still half-trembling, caught in the midst of emotional turmoil made of grief, pain, anger, and an all-encompassing betrayal resulting from six months without one friendly face.

“I don’t know what you expect of me,” Maes went on. His head was low to the ground, speaking to the shifting grass. His legs were trembling, proving to the world how weak and pathetic he was in the face of Roy’s despair. He took a huge breath and dropped to his knees. “But I _do_ know that—that—I’m sorry.”

Roy’s brows knitted nervously. He slowly got to his knees as well, not sure what else he was to do or say. Maes clearly had a thing or two to get off his chest.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Maes continued, his tongue thick in his throat and making every word near impossible to get out. “We tried looking… _everywhere_ for you. We did. I overturned e-every rock, and I used all my resources, and I… I… I _know_ !” Maes squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists over his knees, stomach turning and knotting. “I know that it doesn’t mean anything now. I know that it’s too late and I—I know that when we found you, it wasn’t even on _purpose_ . I know. And you have—y-you have _every_ right to hate us for it. Any of us. _All_ of us. _Me_ . I don’t blame you for hating me. I don’t. But you _have_  to know that we—that—that just because the _military_ thought you were dead, that doesn’t—mean that we did. We knew that y-you were out there, somewhere, and we’d have—have—have _killed_ someone if it meant finding you.”

Maes took a breath so huge and loud it made Roy flinch for a second. Roy stared at him, eyes wide, definitely not expecting the speech Maes had created apparently out of nowhere. Definitely _definitely_ not expecting the way that tears were flooding in Maes’ eyes.

“When Ed and Al went north, that was because of me. _I_ made them go. I had no choice. If they stayed here, they would have been handed over to some sleazy commanding officer who just wanted a step up and a couple prodigies to throw at every problem they had. They wouldn’t— _care_ about them, and since I was busy trying to find you _I_ couldn’t take them! They deserve—god, if they don’t deserve _everything_ , but at _least_ they deserve a commander who would—would _respect_ them and from what I hear, he _did_ . He maybe wasn’t— _kind_ , and lord he wasn’t _you,_ but he wasn’t an—h-he wasn’t—” Maes swallowed hard, glanced up at Roy, and continued on, “he wasn’t an _Archer_ , and that was all that I cared about.  

“And they, those wonderful—those boys _stopped their quest_ . They stopped looking for their solution, they put everything that they _had_ into looking for you instead. Y-you should have heard it, you’d be so proud of him—Al said that he could stand to live, the way that he was, but they had no clue if you were even _alive_ and they just wanted to know…”  

Maes took another deep breath and let it all out in one shaky exhale, closing his eyes and trying to keep himself under control. It was anyone’s guess how he wasn’t crying already. He _felt_ like he wanted to cry. No one should ever have to spend the rest of their lives thinking that their best friends—nay, their _family_ thought them dead and gave up on them. Least of all should Roy. It was a cruel twist of fate that it had all happened in the first place, then that Roy asked to go to the cemetery in the first place and that Maes forgot the one damning stone he should have remembered to have removed the day that they found Roy in that warehouse.

“I know,” he continued, voice breaking and cracking and clearly that breath did no good for him because he sure felt the same if not worse than he had before.  “You went through hell, for six long months, trying to just survive. You had it worse than all of us _combined_ , but… but you _have_ to know that we never, never _ever_ gave up on you. I gave up six months of my life trying to find you, and I’d have given up six more. I did everything in my power to keep your case open as long as I could. But the military decided it—they weren’t going to continue d—” Maes choked on an awful breath because if his next words didn’t sound _awful_ , then he didn’t know what would, “dropping _money into you_ …”

Roy snorted, accompanying Maes’ thoughts. After all Roy had done for the military, they were going to treat him as, rather than a person with a goal in mind and a purpose and real _meaning_ to add to this world, only a few wasted cenz. Trust the Amestrian military.

“...Roy…?” Maes finally asked, watching and waiting for Roy’s reaction. He feared it, feared what he would say. Would he believe Maes? Believe that he had never been given up on? Believe that everyone, right down to Gracia and Elicia, everyone who had ever known him and loved him had put their all into finding him?

Maes couldn’t blame him if he didn’t. Not when Roy’s tombstone was right there in front of them. Not with Roy’s mental state in shambles the way that it was. It would take many long years for Roy to heal emotionally from the events that had lead to his supposed “death”, and Maes would honestly be surprised if Roy forgave them, _believed them_ , at all until then, even after then. Maes would give Roy all the time that he needed to heal, all the time in the world, but there was still something very scary about having to face all that time with his best friend not right there at his side and too afraid and broken for Maes to be at his.

Roy’s arms went around his middle, and he adjusted to pull his legs from beneath his body, and folded them in front of him instead and tapped his metal fingers against his side, metal gears whirring.

“...” Roy took a breath and looked to his own headstone, eyes roaming over the engraved stone that, even if it was destroyed, would never really leave his mind. “...I don’t hate you,” he mumbled. “I don’t… really know what I feel anymore. I’m mad, but I’m sad, but I’m scared, but I… yeah. I think more than anything I’m scared.”

Maes set his mouth and nodded. That was more than understandable. He wished that there was more that he could do for Roy, but he had been trying to do so much for Roy in these past seven months and it hadn’t been enough. Roy had been here and recovering for nearly two months now and this was as far as he got… a feat in and of itself, but it was quickly becoming clear to Maes that what Roy needed, more than anything else, was time.

“It’s not… it wasn’t… _your fault_ ,” Roy finally breathed, agreeing with Maes. “That this happened. I know how the military works, I know that… that they never _liked me_ , I just thought… I don’t know. I know. I get it. I’m just… tired, I guess. I’m tired and I always hurt, my fingers always hurt and my back hurts and I’m irritable and that’s… not really fair, I guess. I’m sorry.” Roy’s eyes fell to the ground and Maes thought he looked perfectly the part of a puppy kicked one too many times. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Maes said honestly. Roy was the last person _on earth_ who had to apologize for _anything_ . “If you need to be mad or sad or scared or anything, that’s okay. I don’t expect you to be healed already, and I don’t expect you to be _you_ already.” Maes breathed out a shaky breath. Shameful, wet tears were starting to prick at his eyes and when his eyes darted toward Roy, he noticed something similar. Neither of them had been prepared for this emotional turmoil. Visiting a graveyard wasn’t exactly supposed to be a _happy_ encounter, but it wasn’t normally so heart wrenchingly awful, not in Maes’ experience. These were special circumstances, he supposed. _Very_ special.

Roy scoffed but said nothing to that, turning his face to the side. He looked to the sun, or to where it should be, because since the time between their arrival and now, the sun had set below the building and only a few of its golden rays stretched out. On the other side, the moon rose slowly, pale light illuminating. Still, it was late and dark and they were sat in the back end of a cemetery, but Roy for one didn’t feel like leaving quite yet. Didn’t feel like he had the strength.

After a beat, Maes’ soft voice broke through Roy’s silence. His voice was broken and hurting and he sounded as if he needed something desperately when he said, “Roy… can I hold you?”

Ordinarily, back before this entire shit show, when Maes asked if he could hold Roy, it was normally a ‘yes’, because Maes didn’t often _ask_ to hold him, he just _did it_ . Because when Maes _did_ ask, it meant that he desperately needed it.

But, now? Right now? The thought of being touched like that, of being trapped Maes’ embrace as much as Roy knew that Maes only had his best intentions? It was sending a stronger thrill of fear up and down Roy’s spine that it had when Maes stepped up behind him. Roy felt his heart start pounding at the thought and his stomach physically knotting with disgust. He couldn’t. He _couldn’t_ . Not after all these emotions rode through him like a eave, not after this _night_ , not after this _discovery_ , he couldn’t…

So, solemnly, feeling a little like the worst friend, he shook his head and dug his metal and flesh fingers into his side, hugging himself tighter. He trembled like a child about to be yelled at by its parent, fearing Maes’ anger even though he knew it wouldn’t be there. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, head low and voice lower. Maes clearly needed to be held, so desperately, but Maes needed to be held every inch that Roy couldn’t stand to be. It was selfish and cruel to Maes but if Roy was trapped like that again…

Maes nodded his head, face falling but definitely understanding. He hugged himself as well, two men looking miserable into front of a gravestone that never should have been there.

Maybe… maybe Roy could meet him halfway. Maybe. Roy couldn’t hold him, _wouldn’t_ hold him, but… maybe this would help.

He scootched over, just a little, just close enough that their shoulders touched. Maes looked over at him, but didn’t say a word when Roy leaned a healthy amount of weight against him. He understood that Roy desperately didn’t want to be held, so he didn’t put his arm around him, and instead leaned in, taking and giving strength and love in equal amounts.

They say there, together, like that for what felt like ages, the cool evening wind tousling their hair and clothes and the grass all around them. Goosebumps stood out on their arms but neither moved to get warmer, just staring ahead silently at an awful blot in history that would forever demonstrate the godawful thing that Roy had been put through.

Maes glared at the headstone and, without a word of warning or preamble or anything, he lashed his foot out and kicked it.

The headstone, embedded in the ground as it was, did not move even a centimeter. Maes cursed and shook out his throbbing toes. The entire scene made Roy laugh almost silently, shaking his head in gentle amusement, probably one of the first positive things he had felt all day.

Maes leaned his cheek down and set it against Roy’s head, waiting for the protest but relieved when there in fact was none. “We’ll have it removed tomorrow,” Maes mumbled to him, voice warped but only slightly.

It wouldn’t erase the events, and it wouldn’t erase the picture of it from Roy’s mind, but at least Roy could visit the cemetery routinely as he used to, without being thrown back into the grips of old memories. That was better than nothing.

“I would appreciate it.”

It wouldn’t fix him, but then, nothing but time would. And besides… it was a start.


End file.
